Nede
by karhall
Summary: For hundreds of years, the Ayleids ruled over Cyrodiil, keeping the races of men crushed beneath their iron fist. That all changed when the Handmaiden instilled the heart of rebellion within a young woman, later to be known as Alessia. This is the story that was lost to history, of how her fight to free her people touched the ones who would become immortal in name and deed.
1. I

The screaming was what always made her skin crawl. All night, every night, it never stopped. Since arriving in Ceya-Tar, it had been the children's screams that would keep her awake. The weak children were always taken for sport, but here it was different. One of the others had told her that the children here were lit ablaze with tar and strung up amongst the tigers. It wasn't a shock to her, torture was an art form to the che. Flesh statues, gardens of intestines; the che treated them as disposable goods. If there seemed to be less-than-optimal utility, it was as good as a sentence for death. She hoped that day would never come for her.

It had been weeks since they left Sard, her home. For three decades she had called it home, but that word was a farce through and through. She wasn't sure if her people even knew what the word "home" really meant. The che called their dwelling places " _math_ ," though this was not the same as "home." _Math_ felt harsh and sharp, painful and empty. Home sounded warmer, softer, like it belonged to someone. Calling Sard "home" was nothing more than a trick she played on herself to forget the feeling that _math_ gave her.

Tonight the screams were much louder than before; she assumed that the children were older than they had been the night before, they had more to burn than the younger ones. It sickened her to think of that, but she could not deny the possible truth. The drinking cavorts of the che echoed through the halls of Ceya-Tar, pierced by the cries of the children. It was a cacophony of horror to her, for she knew the words of the songs the che sang, and she knew that they were ones of joy and prosperity. A verse would end, and there would be a scream, followed by laughter and the clack of goblets.

Sometimes she wished she didn't know any of the che's tongue, but had she not learned it her back would be thrice-over marred with scars from their whips. She understood it well by ear, but her mouth hated to form the words. She preferred to stay silent, or speak in whispers with her people once the che had gone to sleep. The che punished those who spoke out of turn, and so most of her people stayed silent. At night, though, she and the other women would comfort one another, or tend to the men so they wouldn't be weak come the rise of the sun, or feed the children that had survived the day so they would live to see the end of the next. It was fortunate that she was a handmaiden, or her late nights would jeopardize her work. The kothri women, like Jaan, had to work the gardens. She always told Jaan to rest, but the silver-skinned woman would simply smile and reply, "If we all do not work as one, we shall break. When we are free, then shall I rest." Some nights Jaan's back would bleed through the rags she clothed herself with.

Free. It was such a salted word. Bitter in the mind, and taunting on the lips. There was no chance to be free, not that she could see, at least. But she wanted it so badly, her people wanted it so badly. Not just her people, but the kothri, and the al-hared, and the keptu as well. They all wanted to be free. They all wanted to be free of the che, the torture, the work, and the whips. But how? They had no magicka like the che, or at least none that they had learned to use. Her people did not know how to fight, as the che had never let them see their swordplay and live to tell of it. They were scattered in tribe and skin, and it was only by fortune that one might share a tongue with another. But they all wanted freedom, and by that they endured. Like Jaan said, unless they worked as one, they would break. When they were free, they would rest. But now they worked, and they were together. And that was what was important.

She dabbed her rag gently into the basin of coagulated liquid at her side, hoping that some water still remained amongst the blood and grime for Iorchac, the man-of-'kreath who had been whipped for his part in the unsatisfactory construction of the new grain silo above ground. He was a thankful man, always blessing her and the other women for their care. His back was oozing as she daubed the rag into the wounds, and she heard him wince softly. She paused in her care. "Be thou well, Iorchac?" Her whisper was tentative. "Is mine cleaning too strong for thee?"

He shook his head, smiling. "Nay, lady," he replied, "thy cleaning be appreciated and nothing more, I promise." He adjusted the way his chin was resting on his arms and turned his charcoal-black eyes to look at her. "I cannot thank thee enough for thine care. Thou hast the touch of Mara if I could claim to know it."

She shook her head. "Thou do flatter," she sighed, "but were I Mara there would be no need for this touch I give thee."

Iorchac winced again as she re-applied the cloth. "Aye. I suppose 'tis fair to say." He dropped his face to his forearms, pressing his eyes down and wiggling his fingers to massage them with the muscles beneath his skin. "The day this touch leaves me I shall weep, both in joy and in sadness." He lifted his head to smirk. "For freedom comes at the price of losing thine care, and it is through that care I find strength for the day. I thank thee, lady."

She returned the rag to her bowl, laying a hand on Iorchac's shoulder as she stood up from his side. "Rest thee now, man," she said, "the night wanes and thou must work come daybreak." The man-of-'kreath grunted before settling down and closing his eyes to rest. She sighed and stepped gently around the sleeping masses. It was all they ever spoke of any more; freedom. It hurt her to think of it because of how much she wanted it, and how little she believed it would come to her.

She poured out the blooded water into the waste hole, the smell of feces and urine hazing up from it as the liquid splashed over the contents within. This was no way to live; a living, breathing, reasoning creature, stewing in its own excrement at the beck and call of another? The animals could not reason, they needed guidance. The hogs and the stock didn't know that the che feasted and laughed every night only to collapse drunk and full in warm, dry beds. But she knew that, she was no pig. The pigs needed no more than their pen, their world was where they wallowed. But she had been above ground, seen that there was a world outside that was vast and expansive. Why was that denied to her, to her people? They looked like the che; tan skinned and dark haired. They were not as tall, nor thin, nor angled, but they had faces all the same, showed the same emotions, spoke as the che did. It was pure evil, unjust. But what could they do? They had no power against the whips and the magicka; they were trapped.

She found her way to the children, where the other women had begun to congregate. She stepped past a sleeping man to a spot on the floor that was unoccupied. As she sat down, a little boy stirred beside her. She laid a hand on him as he began to sit up, and smiled softly. "Prithee rest, young one; thou must be strong come dawn."

The boy rubbed his eyes defiantly. "Art thou the one who Iorchac says prays for us each night?"

She pet his head slowly. "Indeed I am, child; what causes thee to ask that man of prayers?"

"I wish to pray with thee." The boy sat up on his knees and crawled into her lap. She wrapped her arms around him and held him close, and he folded his hands together. "I wish to bless my mother and father so their work may help our people."

She smiled, leaning back and falling slowly to the ground. "Then let us pray, young one." She curled up to sleep, cradling the boy in her arms. She too folded her hands together, as the child had, and began to pray, as she had each night since coming of age:

"Dragon of Ages, we call to thee. Hear our voice as we speak to thine heavens, through the tears of our brothers and sisters. Grant us strength like thine to endure these days, and heart like thine to hold that strength within. We trust thee, that thou art with us. We trust thee, that thou has heard us. We trust thee, that thou will save us. Send us a sign that our future will be free."

She opened her eyes, looking down at the boy that lay in her embrace. He was peeking at her through one eye, and when their gaze met, he quickly acted as though his eyes had been closed all along. She couldn't help but let a laugh wisp from her chest. "We are done, child," she said, "dost thou need add words to it?"

The child took a deep breath and spoke. "And help mine mother and father work hard come dawn, and help that I may not be hungry come dusk." He nodded firmly and unclasped his hands, looking up into her eyes and smiling. "Was that a good prayer?"

She bit her lip and laughed again. "Very good, young one, very good indeed." She brushed his tattered hair from his forehead. "Now sleep; dawn is fast approaching." The boy nodded and wriggled in her arms, turning onto his side and snuggling against her breast. She sighed, closing her eyes as well. She quickly thought a silent prayer, that she may one day finally take by a man and have a child of her own; but not before she was free. She could not bring a child into this world, not when it may be taken from her for sport.

But her personal happiness needed to wait. All that mattered to her now was that her people soon become free. Hopefully the gods would see fit to answer her prayers; she would arrive in Sancre Tor soon, and the men around her often said that those who go to Sancre Tor rarely lasted past the turn of the season.


	2. II

Sancre Tor was darker than Ceya-Tar, and colder as well. The nights felt as though they passed more quickly, and she felt as though she was getting less and less rest each time she closed her eyes. The che worked her harder here, gave the men more fields to tend and the children less quarter for mistake. She stayed up later caring for them, sleeping less as a result, and continuing to tire further and further. Her dreams were full of fears of failure, that one day she would grow faint at the hand of a che lady and be punished for it. The fear made it difficult to keep focused during the day, and she was scolded more and more frequently. By the grace of the Mother, she had yet to be whipped for her shortcomings, though she knew that consequence was not far off.

The day came to an end and she shuffled back to the sleeping area, this time in amongst the livestock. The ground was a slurry of urine, feces, and the dirt and straw of the pens as she trudged to the space that had been cleared by the stablehand men in secret. Already, she saw many of the others piled upon one another in an effort to stay warm. This city was high in the mountains, where the wind whipped with a sharp anger and snow had already fallen twice, though it was barely midway through the harvest times. The livestock were kept above the ground, on the outside of the city, and so her people were kept there as well.

"Jaan?" She whispered as not disturb too many of the others. She saw one or two heads stir, but only one lifted from amongst the mass of sleeping bodies. In the dim light, she could see the silver skin that scanned for the source of the noise. She stepped gently across the area to where the head had appeared from and settled to the ground.

"Dost thou need of me, child?" The kothri woman reached for her arm and held it tightly. "Thou seem distressed."

She shook her head slowly. "Nay, but my thanks, friend." The older kothri woman was truly her friend in this place. Since her youth in Sard, Jaan had been there for her to help her grow strong and quickly. Jaan had seen her first bleeding, and comforted her as she cried with worry that she would die from it. Jaan was like a mother to her, and she thanked the gods that be for their providence in Jaan's journey with her to Sancre Tor. Without the silver-skinned woman, her hope would have perished long ago. She placed a hand over Jaan's and continued. "I am in need of rest, is the truth. I have not slept well these past days, and I am tired from mine work."

Jaan sighed. "Be we all, in truth. Sleep with me, then; we shalt rest together."

She turned her body and pressed into Jaan, who wrapped an arm around her and squeezed softly. "Mine chest pains me, Jaan," she said. "'Tis not a feeling like I have known before."

The kothri spoke softly from behind her. "Rest, child. The morning will bring healing for thine pains if only for a moment."

She closed her eyes and breathed in deep. Her chest did hurt, a slow ache that she could not place. It was different from the pain she felt when she saw one of her people being whipped, or a child crying from hunger. She hoped it would subside come the morning, and started her prayer:

 _Dragon of Ages, we call to thee. Hear our voice as we speak to thine heavens, through the tears of our brothers and sisters. Grant us strength like thine to endure these days, and heart like thine to hold that strength—…_

She fell asleep before she could finish.

* * *

The field before her stood wide and long, the golden tan of barley heaving to and fro in the wind. It was…serene. There was no pressure, there was no looming feeling of harvest like before. It was calm here. Like the wind, she skimmed through the barley towards a figure on the horizon. She felt the wisps of the plants on her fingers, and eventually she arrived at her focal point. It was a small hut, made of stone and mud, with a thatched straw roof just high enough to stand under. It sat in the middle of a clearing in the barley, on yellow-green grass that seemed worn from being trod on. The ground was littered with burlap figures, small human-shaped piles of fabric with small tunics wrapped around them. She peered down at one of them, puzzling over what it could have been used for. Then there was sound from the hut.

She turned up to the building and saw a little girl emerge from with in, laughing joyfully. The girl scampered over to the burlap figure, picking it up and holding it tight to her chest. Behind the girl emerged a man, much like one of her people, bearded and tan. He stood with his shoulders back and his chest broad. He seemed thicker than the men she knew; his ribs were not visible beneath his skin and his face was not as hollow as she was accustomed to. He looked like the che did, with their plump cheeks and sleek, round midsections. He was smiling too, talking to the girl in a nonsense tongue. He lifted a scythe from the ground and made his way out to the fields of barley.

She was suddenly lifted high into the air, free from the pull of the ground and weightless amongst the clouds. She flew over the fields of barley to another hut, where another child and their father were outside talking to one another. Then to another hut, and a mother and son. Another hut, a man and a woman together. Again and again, she flew from one hut to the next over an endless expanse of gold, each time seeing people outside together, smiling and laughing. She rose higher and higher into the sky, further and further away from the fields of barley. The huts began to grow smaller and smaller, turning into dots amongst the gold. Then the gold ran together, the dots too small to see. Then, the gold began to shrink. It too grew smaller and smaller, and more gold began to appear to her left and right. They rose from a flat whiteness, a line that stretched as far as her eyes could see. She pulled back from them further and further, and then even the whiteness broke. It gave way to the pure blue of the sky, the white forming into a spire that rose high to the heavens. The gold encircled the top, beaming bright unto the world below it.

She looked down at the ground and saw people, her people. They were gathered together, as one. They stood with their loved ones and their brothers and sisters. Arm in arm, hand in hand, held by their mothers, they stood. They looked upwards, to the tower. They were smiling.

She flew higher still, until the people became a sea of brown. The sea of brown grew larger, and larger, until suddenly…it was a hut. A little girl emerged from within, scampering over to a burlap figure laying on the ground, and lifting it tight to her chest.

There was a blaze of light from above, and she turned her attention from the little girl to see it. It was shaped as a woman, arms outstretched across the heavens. " _My child,_ " came a voice from within it; a female voice, " _see well what I have shown thee._ "

"Who art thou, spirit?"

" _Thou shalt know in time._ " The light began to fade. " _Think on what thou hast seen. This shall be thine prize._ "

Everything went dark, and a weight lifted from her shoulders.

* * *

For three days she pondered her dream. Had it been just that, a dream and nothing more? Or had it been something more powerful; a vision from the gods? Had it been a prophecy? Whatever it had been, she had awoken from it with ease in her chest and great energy for her day. Energy to think and wait on her che mistresses and not be scolded.

She mulled deeper and deeper into what she had seen. The people, the wide expanse of barley. What did it mean? What did that bright figure want her to see in it. And the tower; it had looked like it belonged to the che. The longer she thought, the more she felt as though she had even seen the tower before. Perhaps through the trees, as she was marched from Ceya-Tar to Sancre Tor. Everything belonged to the che, so the tower must have belonged to them as well. It was white, like their halls; it was possible.

But the serenity of the scene did not carry the harshness or venom of the che and their whips, it was one of calm. Peace, even. In fact, there had been no che to be seen, just people. Her people. That had to mean something.

Her people, happy. Families together. Warm homes and land above ground. All this, and no che; the che's tower surrounded by her people as a source of joy, not pain. _This shall be thine prize._

On the third night, as she lay down to sleep, she had a great pain behind her left eye. It felt like pressure forcing itself out of her skull, but she was not troubled by it. After all, what could trouble her on a night as this, after she had finally come to realize what it was her dream was meant to show her.

She had seen what it would mean for her people to truly be free.

It meant they would have to be rid of the che.


	3. III

She found herself in an open expanse of grass. The blue above her was wispy with clouds, rolling across the sky effortlessly. The wind blew in her face, and flecks of rain even broke over her skin. She stepped forward through the grass and felt the cool plants form around her toes, soft to her weight and smooth on her skin. She walked forward to the only thing on the horizon; a single tree not far in front of her.

She approached the tree at an amble, running her fingers along the bark and feeling its coarseness and texture. The branches shaded her from the sunlight, but obstructed her view of the clouds. She reached up and touched one, and it shook gently. As the sunlight danced through the rapidly shifting leaves, a few petals fell from the blooms at the ends of the branches. Serene. That was what filled her mind at this moment. It was serene here. It was peaceful. There was something about this place that felt…powerful. It felt inspirational, and influential. But why? It was merely a plant amidst an expanse of flat land, how could it be so strong?

" _Paravant_."

Her head snapped around at this sound. The petals from the tree fluttered through the air around her, swirling in patterns familiar to her. She turned fully and stepped towards the leaflets. "Show thyself," she spoke, "prithee, that I may speak to thee; that I may learn of this place."

The petals took form of a face, a mask floating in the air. The lips parted, and the same voice that had broken the silence came forth from it again. " _Thou shalt be known by such a name,_ " it said. It was feminine, warm, and strong. The petal face seemed to smile. " _Such a name belongs only to such a mortal that is worthy of our majesty in killing-questing-healing._ "

She shook her head. "Spirit, prithee speak to me not with riddles but with truth; what is this place? Have I seen thee once before, in a dream days ago? Answer me, please."

" _Paravant,_ " the spirit said again, " _thou needst not concern thyself with this place. Put it from thine mind and listen._ " The petals fell to the earth, lifeless.

She began to panic. "Listen to what? Thou shouldst leave me so soon after such a message? What game dost thou play with me, spirit?"

There was a burst of wind against her face. She turned from it, and behind her there was a new mass of petals, forming a face. It spoke to her again. " _Thou shalt be the first of thine kind, as thy name 'Paravant' means in the old tongue. Thou shalt be ruler of all, for within thee lies a will greater than that of thine masters, and righteous to our eyes. Thou hast found the meaning of mine first message, that thine freedom will come if thou wills to take it. And now, I bring thee the first of the means by which thou shalt take it, the means that shall empower thee to become the leader that thou art meant to be._ "

Before she could speak again, the petals blew off in another gust of wind. They soared up, and up. Higher and higher into the sky. They twirled and danced amongst the clouds, drawing the smoky white shapes into its cyclone. The cloud was absorbed into the petals, and it was quickly engulfed by the plants. With a mighty burst, the cloud was expelled down towards the earth, like one of the che's arrows fired from a bow. It made landfall at her feet, billowing over her body like a wave, tossing her hair around her face and whipping loose foliage against her legs.

She uncovered her face, peering at where the cloud had crashed down. A figure rose from within. What she saw…

" _This is mine Breath, Paravant._ " The spirit's voice rang out across the plain. " _Winged, he shalt descend to thee when thine brothers and sisters share your hope in freedom. He is Man, as thou shalt know him as thine ally against the oppressor. And, as the Bull may do, he shalt break the oppressors down and grind them beneath his feet._ "

She swallowed deeply. "Who art thou?"

A cloud swung low from the sky, sweeping across the figure and removing it from sight. " _Dost thou not know the work of one Handmaiden? Thou art one as well._ "

The sun began rapidly descending through the sky. "Lady Kyne?" It passed from noon to sunset to dusk. "Lady Kyne, art thou truly with me?"

" _This is mine Breath, Paravant._ " Midnight. " _This shall be thine cornerstone._ "

Black.

* * *

Many of her brothers and sisters were happy to spread word of her vision. The name Paravant littered the whispers of the sleeping quarters; people addressed her as such, sharing with her their emotions of excitement and hope they had found in the wake of hearing her revelation. Jaan had taken to calling her Perrif, a word the old woman said came from the old tongue as well and had a similar meaning to the title bestowed upon her by Kyne. She liked the name Perrif, it was much preferred to her old name the che had given her. She asked those around her to call her Perrif, trying to phase herself out of the world of the che and gain ground as the leader of her people that Kyne prophesied her to be. Her name was not the only thing that would need to change; she would have to rename her people all together. The che called them "nothing." Her people were known as "nothing" to the che. _Nede_. It sickened her. Living, breathing, thinking creatures. _Nede_. Nothing. That would change soon.

Three days passed after Perrif's second vision, her waking hours filled more and more by others spreading her vision throughout the humans of Sancre Tor. On this day, there was a palpable buzz hanging over the open-air courtyard where her che lady had chosen to recline for the afternoon. Perrif stood vigilantly by her lady's side, ready to respond to the che's needs. As one of the long, dainty hands raised slowly, Perrif stepped forward and placed a goblet inside it. The lady continued the motion of bringing her hand to her lips undisturbed, taking a sip of the wine from within the cup and letting her hand fall away from her face again. Perrif took the goblet from her quickly, pouring a mouthful of drink back into it from the decanter to return the contents to their original state. The che lady ruffled the scroll she was reading; Perrif could never tell if she was satisfied or not.

"(Thou hast trained thine Nede well, Anaya,)" came the voice of another che lady passing through the courtyard, "(it is so attentive.)"

"(At times.)" Perrif resisted the urge to grit her teeth. The servant at the hand of the other che lady met her eyes and nodded. Perrif could hear the unspoken address of "Paravant." It was impossible to resist the pull of the smile at the corners of her mouth. There was hope in this place now, in all her people. Kyne had promised freedom, and they all believed.

A rumble broke across the sky. Everyone's heads snapped up to the heavens, where there was not a cloud to be seen. Perrif's che lady frowned in concern. "(Rain? On so clear a day? Such a shame. How glad I am I need not oversee the Nedes in the fields; such a chore must be both boring _and_ tiresome.)"

The fields? The rumble _had_ come from that direction. And there had not been so much as a hint of rain all day, but the rumble had sounded as though it was directly overhead. Perrif stared up at the sky, and another rumble crawled forth from it. From the edges of the columns that lined the courtyard, white clouds began to creep in towards the center of her vision. There were statements of worry from the che around her, but Perrif wasn't listening. There was something about this that was familiar, as though it had happened to her before. The clouds swirled around and around, a twister dancing through the sky. It began to funnel down towards the earth, and that was when it hit her; this was the Breath of Kyne.

She took off running from the courtyard, her lady shouting after her with venom on her lips. The funnel was pointed towards the fields, that was where she needed to be. She was swept up in the mass of che and her people alike that were rushing to the fields as well, curious and afraid of what it was that had appeared in the sky. She pushed her way through and burst out of the crowd, now outside the gates of Sancre Tor and in front of the farmland.

The twister grew longer and longer, nearing the ground moment by moment. The tip began to whip to and fro, as though it itself was being blown by wind. It stretched further and further, being pulled out by some unseen force. Then, something erupted from the end. It hummed through the air like a hawk, twisting and turning and aiming itself downwards. It flew low towards the fields, grazing the top of the forest before breaking into the clearing of the farmland and dipping again towards the ground. It was massive, moving faster than one would have thought possible, skimming the ground not higher than Perrif was tall. It tucked its wings in and turned itself over in the air, rolling forward so its rear whipped down and smashed into the ground. With a mighty flap of its wings, the creature slid powerfully to a stop, the clouds dissipated, and the world seemed to fall silent.

As the creature unfolded its wings from in front of it and stood up, Perrif continued to walk forward. Even from the distance between them, she could make out its features. It had the body of a man, but stood taller than any che. Enormous wings, brown and feathered like an eagle, folded onto its back. It was not clothed, and Perrif could see that it was male, and that he was covered in thick, brown body hair. He reached his full hight and surveyed his surroundings slowly. Quickly, he locked his gaze on Perrif and began to walk towards her; she froze in place.

"(Hey, what is the meaning of this?)" A che man stepped forward and attempted to stop the creature's forward progress. He was not successful. The che was brushed out of the way effortlessly. Perrif could see beneath the body hair a mass of thick, bulging muscle. His core, his arms, his legs; powerful. He approached her and stood still, towering over her. His face was square and ragged; a tangled beard adorned his enormous, block chin and matted together with the unkept hair that sat atop his head. His nose was pierced with a ring, like a steer, and from each of his temples protruded a horn that rivaled that of the oxen she shared her bed with.

It was not unlike what she had seen in her vision. This _was_ the Breath of Kyne.

He knelt before her, looking her in the eyes. "Paravant," he spoke, his voice deeper than the thunder that had signaled is arrival.

It took a moment for her to find her voice. "A-aye, I am she. Thou art the Breath of Kyne, as was shown to me in my vision?"

He bowed his head. "Before thee kneels Morihaus-Breath-of-Kyne, son of the Handmaiden. The time is nigh for thee to realize thy purpose. As promised, I shalt be thine cornerstone; my life is yours, Paravant."

Perrif shook her head. Her mind was blank of ways to address this enormous spirit that had manifest itself at her feet. To think that she could have power over such a being dumbfounded her. Before she could form a sentence, there was the sharp snap of a whip. Morihaus-Breath-of-Kyne snorted, his face furrowing in disgust. He rose to his feet and turned, revealing to Perrif a line on his back from being struck. The che man that had been pushed aside earlier stood before the spirit in a frothing rage. "(The indignity! Dismissed by such filth as shares guise with the Nede! The dirt beneath mine feet is more worthy of thine attentions than such Nedes! Thou shalt bow to no creature but me, cretan; on your knees!)"

As the whip cracked again, striking the Breath of Kyne across his chest, the giant winged man's face alit with a smirk. In a flash, his massive hand whipped forward and fastened around the che's neck, and with an impossible strength the aggressor was lifted from the ground and suspended by the front of his cloak. "Thou hast taken thine presence in this world for granted, elf," Morihaus-Breath-of-Kyne snorted, "and thou shalt now face the consequences. These ' _Nede_ ,' as thou call them, are worthy of much more than thee shall ever know." Morihaus-Breath-of-Kyne lowered the che to his face. "A new era will dawn, and thou will not live to see it."

The giant man leaned his head back, and drove his horn forward through the che's eye. Perrif had never before heard a scream of pain so loud, nor cut so short.


	4. IV

Lifeless, the che's body was cast aside by the gigantic man-bull. Perrif watched as he folded to the floor unceremoniously, flimsy as cloth and heavy as stone. The new eye torn in his skull gaped wide, gushing forth with deep crimson blood that spilled out onto the turf like the flow of water from the stream. Around her, time seemed to freeze; none of her people had ever seen the che bleed. And now, one was dead at their feet. They were flesh and blood, like her people were. They could die, just like those they killed; and so simply, too. They were not special. They were not gods. They could be disposed of.

Her vision of the truth in freedom was on the cusp of its fruition. All she needed was for her people to see this too.

A shock of noise cracked through the ranks of the che. The women called out in fear — some fainted — and the men leaped into action. The half-dozen other overseers that were working the fields were the first to approach Morihaus-Breath-of-Kyne. Two of them slung their whips towards the man-bull; he allowed them to strike and wind around his enormous wrist. He closed his massive fingers around the leather weapons and ripped them from the che's hands. He slung the whips away and struck out at his aggressors, knocking them to the ground. The next to approach slung his whip towards the man-bull's legs, wrapping around the hairy ankle and attempting to topple the giant. Morihaus-Breath-of-Kyne extended his wings, buffeting the che, and leaped powerfully into the air. With a mighty thrust, he drove his wings down and launched skyward, dragging the che into the sky with him. He tucked his wings in tight and rolled backwards, whipping the helpless che out over the fields. The man-bull drove himself to the ground again, landing hard atop one of the che he had knocked over. He unfurled his wings again, blocking the sun from the remaining two aggressors. The che barked at one another, trying to determine what their next move should be.

Morihaus-Breath-of-Kyne raised his arms. "Dost thou see now, those these elves call 'Nede?' Dost thou see that the words of the Paravant were spoken true? As the Bull, I shall stamp these monsters from this Plane, at thine side, as thine ally; as a Man, same as thee!" The other grounded che attempted to scramble away from the man-bull, but the Breath of Kyne grabbed hold of his garments and hauled him from the dirt. He suspended the che at his side as it writhed and called for help. "Thine age dawns nigh! Stand now, or lose what has been promised to thee!"

There were moments of silence that followed the booming call to arms. The che did not move, for they could not have understood the human tongue, but Perrif could hear them murmuring amongst themselves that fetching the armory stores would be necessary. A few of the younger che men slipped away back into the city, and the women began to work their way back inside as well. Perrif looked around at her people, unsure of what they might be doing in response to this situation. Most stood motionless, whether in shock or in awe remained to be seen.

The other che overseers sprung into action, rushing towards Morihaus-Breath-Of-Kyne. The man-bull prepared himself for the onslaught, continuing to call to Perrif's people. "Rise against them! Raise arms to them! Take from them thine freedoms that have for so long been denied to thee!"

Perrif drew her breath in short bursts as her lungs were made subject to the rhythm of her pounding heart. She looked out over the fields of men, silently imploring them to make a decision. _Please_ , she begged, _heed him._ One man was staring at his hands, clutching his farming tool, knuckles white in contrast with his dark skin. His flat nose flared with his breathing, and the twitch grew more and more rapid as Perrif continued to watch him. He looked up and turned to where the che overseers were flowing from. His face was one of anger; his jaw was clamped shut with such force to sink his already skeletal cheeks to his teeth. With a determination the likes of which could not have been expected, the man reeled back his tool and cried mightily. He snapped his arms forward, and drove the wedge of his hoe into the chest of an advancing che.

With a thud, the che was spun around in a cry of pain. His almond-shaped eyes bore holes into the small man, a singeing beam of contempt and anger aimed directly into the human that dared raise a hand against him. But, the little man was undeterred; his frail, malnourished body was sore from the work of the day, and the day before, and every day for months and years prior, but his arms still raised the gardening tool before him in a challenge; his brow was drenched in sweat that dripped into his eyes, but he still met the che's gaze with a fearless abandon. "Our time is nigh," the man said, "the Paravant speaks truth." The che sneered, spitting a derogatory response as he readied his whip. The man turned and swung his hoe again, shouting through the ache in his shoulders and back as he slung the metal end of the tool towards the che's head.

Perrif pried her eyes from this scene at the sense of movement elsewhere, snapping her head aside to see a similar series of events unfolding in another pocket of the fields. And then, again, in another pocket. A handful of her people had taken arms against a handful of che; the thinner men with their light tools swinging wildly at the che, and the larger of her people striking heavy with picks used for digging rows of crops and the hammers used to drive fenceposts. One by one, the che matched with the larger men fell, but most of the thinner men were overpowered with ease. Their light tools were ripped from their hands, hoes and rakes that were mostly wood and lacked any real power to damage. But, as those men were taken by the che, their neighbors entered the fray to aid them. Now, the che were faced with two or three men at a time, wielding a variety of tools, and the number of men that were overpowered began to decline.

Morihaus-Breath-Of-Kyne, who had been fending off che after che on his own, let out a hearty bellow at the sight of the che falling to the spades of men. "Yes, mine brothers; yes!" He struck down a final che and leaped powerfully into the air. "This shall be the seed of thine virtue! This shall be thine deliverance!" He flapped his wings and took off over the farmlands, zooming low over the heads of the battling masses. "For too long, these elves have held thee under their thumb, and for too long thou have been too weak to free thyselves. But thou shall have strength this day! Thou shall have strength in me!" The Breath of Kyne somersaulted in the air and smashed down to the ground, crushing a che beneath his feet. "I am the Breath of Kyne," he bellowed, "and all who stay with me shall draw breath eternal!" He raised his fist to the skies. " _On this day, we put an end to tyranny!_ "

The roar that followed was thunderous.

Immediately, Perrif was engulfed in mayhem. People, her people, were flooding in every direction. The women and children were fleeing from the entryway to the city, scrambling towards the fields and forests that surrounded the limits of Sancre Tor. Perrif was buffeted as the massive number of people that had exited the city initially, to see the source of the thunder in the clear skies, flowed forward into the open space of the fields. One woman crashed into her and spun her around abruptly, and from the origins of the stampede Perrif held witness to the emergence of young che men carrying combat arms. The young men rallied one another, cursed the Nedes that dared raise arms against their divine rule, and even cut down some of the women and children that were within range of their blades as they fled.

The Breath Of Kyne bellowed for the working men to heed him in a charge, and the men cheered for him and took at a run for the city gates. The man-bull approached Perrif and thrust his mighty hand to her chest. "Take this, Paravant!" He opened his fist and dropped one of the che's whips into Perrif's arms. He nodded towards the woman's shocked stare. "Take this whip and find more like it; arm thine sisters and fight with thine brothers. Man and woman both shall deliver us from these elves, it is not the duty of one sex alone." He stepped around her and continued to rally his support. Perrif looked on, terrified.

In her hands she held the very whip that had lashed open many of her people, and the blood within it was like lead in her grip. And she would fight with it? _She_? And her sisters, the women of her people? Surely one woman would be no match for a che. She stole a glance back to the fields, where the stampedes of working men and fleeing women had crashed together like cymbals. In the wake of the men she saw bodies laying on the ground, dead or as good as dead. Some were crying out in pain from wounds of magick, others lay silent in eternal sleep. Amongst them were the bodies of che, broken and bloodied from the barrage of farm tools. Aye, the che were mortal as her people, but it was her people's mortality that struck her now. How naïve she had been; being rid of the che would not have come without a price. But for her to fight, for her to offer herself to pay that price…She was afraid. She was the Paravant, the First of her Kind; she was the hope for all her people, the source of this push for freedom that was swarming around her. She _had_ to fight. It was the will of Kyne.

She took off at a run for the fields, cutting through the turbulent crowd. She grabbed children along the way, towing them to the crops where the fallen men and che lay in the dirt. "Tell thine brothers and sisters," she instructed the young ones, "take whips to thy mothers. Find tools for them and bring the tools to thy mothers. Go, children!" The young ones scattered frantically. Perrif rushed through the fields, collecting tools and whips from the fallen fighters. She knelt by women who lay weeping over their dead mates, comforting them. She repeated countless times; "Would ye let thy tears fall and drown the service he has done for our people? Or would ye take his arms and continue his work? Kyne has called us to fight this day, even thou. Let thine tears fall in the wounds of the che as ye stand above them, so they may taste the pain they have forced on us for so long. Rise, sister, and fight." Every woman quickly swallowed her sobbing and took a weapon from Perrif's hand.

Frantically, Perrif rushed to where the women had begun to congregate, holding uncomfortably their new tools and whips. Perrif took a deep breath, closing her eyes and remembering the Breath Of Kyne's charge to the men. "Sisters!" When all eyes fell on her, she felt her throat swell shut. She fought to swallow the shake in her voice; it was her duty to bring these women in to the cause. She fought through the creaking in her throat and shouted at the height of her lungs, "Sisters, heed me! The time is nigh for our people to take our lives back from the che! Our men have shown us that our vile lords hold not more than we in strength or life, that we _can_ overcome them! And Kyne has shown her grace to us, by delivering us her Breath to open our doors and grant us the light of freedom. I stand before ye as Paravant, the First of mine Kind, as proof that this change in history does _not_ belong only to man! Face this truth, sisters! We are delivered by Kyne, our Handmaiden; a woman! Again, I stand before ye as Kyne's chosen; Kyne has chosen a _woman_! Dost thou not see what the plan for this world shall be? Men may be strong, but Kyne's name be profaned if women are to be seen as nay more than weak! It is our destiny, sisters! We are to fight with our brothers and lovers as equals in this era of change! What say ye to that?"

The cheer that rose from the assembled women set Perrif's skin aflame with ecstasy. She smiled uncontrollably as woman after woman thrust their weapons to the sky and called her name, "Paravant! Paravant!" She drank it in like honey, the sweetness coating her essence. She was compelled to continue, "Those of ye who are too old to fight, or heavy with child; stay with the young ones and tend to those who lay fallen but alive, or are sent away for medicine. The children must learn our healing arts, for until they can fight they must still be able to contribute to our cause. Young men and women…" Perrif looked out at the sea of small, wide-eyed faces that was huddled around the elder women. She softened her face and toned down her smile. "Ye, young ones, are our future. Learn well from thine mothers and fathers, and thou shalt become strong like them." From within the group of elder women, Jaan nodded to Perrif. Perrif saw her friend's gaze, and returned the gesture.

Perrif…Kyne's chosen…Paravant…She took hold of the whip in her hands and gently swayed the leather to and fro across the grass. She was all those and more. With a sharp breath, she moved her arm violently, a mimicry of the motion she had seen so many times since her birth. Though, this time, the snap of splitting air did not bring with it pain or hatred. The smell of singed leather filled Perrif's lungs and fed her bones with lightning. "We fight, sisters! Join the men in the city, and mark this world with our message; the age of our people dawns nigh!"

This time, the stampede never had a chance to sweep over her, for she was running fastest of them all.


	5. V

Morihaus had no need to look over his shoulder for the source of the empowered shouts that steadily advanced onto his flanks. He knew that the Paravant had gathered the women to join the fray. Nor did Perrif notice that he did not look back; so drunk was she on the high of her words to her kin sisters all she could notice was which of the che she thought she could overpower first. The fighting had regressed back into the entryway to the city, flooding the open-air courtyard with screams and roars and cries of hatred. It was a tangle of whips, farm tools, and flashes of magicka as che men clashed with her kin brothers. She slung her own whip at a nearby che who was distracted by the stinging flash for a moment longer than he could afford, and was felled by the tip of a pitchfork. She slipped around another combatant and was roughly knocked off balance by a stray leg of a man trying to put weight behind a swing of his scythe. Clumsily, she staggered forward a bit more into the path of a che driving away a hoe-wielding man with a flurry of steel blades. Her kin brother crashed into her and his weight sent her tumbling to the ground.

From the turf, the fray was even more disorienting. Ankles slammed to the dirt before her, and over her. She was trod upon immediately, a booted che heel driven square into her spine as it staggered away from an onslaught of whip lashes. She struggled to her feet, buffeted over onto her back by a stray knee. A kick to her ribs. Her hand was crushed beneath another foot. She sat up and felt her whip ripped free of her clutches. Before her a scythe appeared high in the air, and the world seemed to slow as the blade descended towards her. She kicked away from the trajectory of the tool, but was again buffeted by a fury of bodies. The scythe descended upon her, free of its farmhand's clutches, plummeting to its future residence in her skull. _It ends like this?_ The anticlimax turned the world around her grey. The prophecy of her name, the battle around her. She would fall already. Without landing a single blow, without knowing the outcome of her charge.

A darkness fell over her as a massive figure blotted out the sun. Wings wide, the Breath of Kyne snatched the falling scythe from its path and redirected the cutting blade. He held it with one hand and spun, cleaving in two a che that had dared assign his attention to the man-bull. With authority, Morihaus buried the blade of the scythe in the dirt on which he stood and took to the sky, his mighty wings emitting a blustering gale upon the grounded Perrif. "Descend upon the inner city, brothers and sisters!" He leaned back and rolled through the air, his words booming over the cacophony like the thunder of a storm. "Recoil from the gates and I shalt clear them for ye! We must smoke them from their horrid den!"

Perrif sat in shock, the scythe embedded in the ground before her drooling with che blood. She could hear it sing for more flesh, its days of felling wheat already faded memories in the wake of its newfound labor of the reaping of souls. It had come for her soul not moments before, but now it called for her to come to it. It sang for her grip on its handle, for her fingers to wipe the blood from its blade so that its next taste could be untainted and fresh. It was no longer a tool of the fields, it was a weapon of war. Perrif could feel that change. The call of the scythe made the battle around her seem to stand still. She rose between sparring pairs and slipped through tangles of legs that had before caused her to stumble and approached the weapon embedded in the ground. With two hands she released it from its sodden prison, and with her frail handmaiden's arms she balanced the heavy metal hook before her. It hummed with want for killing, Perrif's hands shook from it. That was what she told herself, anyhow.

Above her Morihaus completed a complex aerial maneuver, avoiding volleys of magicka from the grounded che, and cut through the air like a hawk towards the city entrance. A wall of che men stood before the great stone gates, repelling wave after wave of Nede attackers. Heeding the Breath of Kyne from moments ago, the men retreated from their assault on the che and held back. The che took a collective breath as the onslaught lulled, though within seconds their air was taken from them. The Breath of Kyne slammed to the ground before the che guard and drew himself a deep chest full of air. The air crackled with power as from the man-bull's lips let loose a monstrous bellow. The man-bull called out loudly in a tongue no other being present could claim to have knowledge of, and from between his teeth was unleashed a mighty gale, stronger than even the wind thrown up by his wings or the hurricane that had delivered him to this realm. The che were like feathers in its blustering charge, thrown from their feet and slammed into the gates to the sound of a deep, cavernous boom.

As the battle around him slowed to a crawl in awe of his power Morihaus lunged past the che, who had fallen heavily to the ground and were writhing in pain, and seized the stone gate in his mighty hands. With back muscles rippling beneath his thick, dark skin and black woolen hair, the man-bull tore open the gates to Sancre Tor. "We enter the caverns of the Darkness, brothers and sisters!" The stone gate slid, grating, to its widest opening. "Let us drive the demons from within!"

The men bellowed in response and abandoned their duels in the courtyard, dashing for the open doorway in lieu of finishing off the che that still stood. Perrif was swept up in their wake, the scythe in her hands still weighing her down as she made to follow. Morihaus' words struck her with irony amongst all the chaos. As she thought of that, the scythe grew lighter. She picked up her pace and dove into the city.

* * *

Before all this, Perrif would lie awake at night to the sounds of dying children echoing through the halls of the che city. Now, the echo was overpowering, and it was more than just children. She heard her people's tongue and the che's ring out through the bone-white stone corridors as she was jostled through the escalating fray within the walls of Sancre Tor. Screams, battle cries, curses of all colors. Perrif turned quickly to avoid a falling blade and she pushed outward with the long handle of her scythe to drive away a retreating che. This was a battle. This was conflict. But she was not an agent in it, merely an observer. The tumult churned her slowly through the corridors of the city, every fiber of her being intensely focused on the melee that surrounded her. The thought of striking with her weapon was not even a whisper in the fray. Her mind was full of nothing else but the location of the next incoming whiplash, which sword may change trajectory towards her location, how many legs lie between her and the next spot of floor where she could set her footing. In here she could not afford to be tripped up, it was too dense. She had already witnessed the fate of those who had sunk below the bedlam, and she did not wish to join them in painting the hard ground red and grey. And even in her vigilance, she was struck. A lash here, a cut there. Her arms were screaming under the weight of the scythe, and they protested violently as they were dealt blow after blow in the confusion of war.

She swirled and eschewed to a fork in the corridor; the left a staircase leading into the depths of the city, her right a staircase ascending to the court chambers. She had only been to that place once, when she had arrived to the city and had been sold to her mistress, a che lady high in the _arane_ counsel. The flow of the battle was dragging her down into the city's lower levels, though she spied between the mayhem that a trickle of her people were slipping up the stairs in the direction of the court. Perrif squirmed against the flow, using her scythe to part the melee for a moment just long enough for her to break free and scamper up the steps. Free of the bodies, she could breathe again. The air she gulped down as her bare feet pounded up the stone stairwell was thick with the stink of blood. But it slowed the burning in her legs and silenced the cries of pain from her arms as she propelled herself forward. She felt her heart pounding out from her breast, the spiraling staircase closing in around her and amplifying the echoing sounds of war. The skittering of swords on stone, blades on blades, and the wet squelch of iron on flesh clawed at her heels like a monster in the dark. She powered forward still; freedom from the bodies meant she now stood alone, and that planted the seed of fear in her heart. Free from the bodies, she was exposed. And as she was exposed, she was a target. She ran from the monster at her heels, up towards the court chambers.

Sound swelled before her as she ran, and she kew she would enter another hurricane of combat. Light broke into the stairwell, and she found herself at the top of the ascendancy. The court chambers were a bloodbath. The Breath of Kyne stood tall over all who struggled within, swinging his mighty fists and goring his foes clean through with his horns. Perrif looked over the scene and saw pockets of combat frothing amongst a sea of bodies. She saw many of her people lying there staring, though unseeing, into the abyss. Though more numerous than that were gaudy che robes hacked to ribbons by farm tools and stained with blood that littered the ground. There were fewer che guards than there were her kin brothers and sisters, and those that remained were often taking on two or more opponents at once. There were individual duels happening between men, who had retrieved swords from fallen che, and guardsmen, but it was clear to Perrif that the che were obviously superior in combat to the men who were hefting their first swords. She needed to help one of the duelists gain the upper hand, she needed to strike with a weapon for her first time as well. It was the only way they could win, by working together.

Perrif charged towards one of her kin who was dueling with a che, stepping between fallen bodies and straining against the weight of the scythe to try and bring it to a striking position. She had seen how Morihaus had cleaved a che in two, that was how she would attack. She arrived upon the duel and slammed to a stop. With all her strength she slung the scythe towards the che. Her kin brother seemed surprised by her arrival and tried to break off from his position. The movement of the weapon turned her body on the slick floor, and she felt her footing being ripped from beneath her by the momentum. The back side of the blade, unsharpened as to keep the the other workers safe from its cleaving arc, bashed into the forearm of Perrif's kin brother. He yelped in shock and dropped his acquired sword, the scythe wobbling from impact and diving sharply towards the floor. Perrif's feet shot into the air behind her as the momentum torqued her center of gravity around the fulcrum of the scythe handle. Her face tumbled down, down, down to the floor, and she landed on her cheekbone with a heavy thud. Her eyes flashed white hot, and frantically she rolled onto her back. The che had run her kin brother through.

Time paused as Perrif watched the white steel blade slide coldly from the man's gut. A cascade of blood crawled from the remaining wound, oozing down his flesh like a leech and slithering into the recess of his navel for a moment before continuing on its fatal journey to his loincloth. She saw his eyes as his knees gave out beneath him; they were wide. They mirrored her emotions as he descended slowly to the floor. Confused. Angry. Grieving. Afraid. He landed face first, and his eyes were gone. She saw on his arm a bruise where the scythe had struck him.

 _I did this._

The che grabbed her hair and dragged her to her feet. "(Filthy Nede!)" His grip was like iron on her scalp. "(To strike at me with mine own invention. To dare raise thine hand to me? The insolence!)" She struggled against her captor, her skin rebelling furiously with enormous waves of pain thundering down her spine with each movement. "(Thou shalt die like the dog you art. Taste the maggot flesh of thine breed, Nede. Tis the last taste thou shalt know.)"

Perrif was slammed to the ground atop the still-warm body of the man she had watched fall moments ago. When she touched him, she felt him move. Not from her weight, he moved against her. He was still alive. But she could hear his breathing. It was long and ragged. And pained. So much pain. She remembered his eyes. So much fear. _I did this_. She turned over to face her executioner. She could feel it too now, what she had seen in the man's eyes. Why had she thought she could help here? She could not even lift the scythe, let alone swing it. How stupid she had been; she cursed herself by all the gods she could name. _The gods_. It was her prophecy, that she would deliver her people from this place. And yet here she was, about to die. The gods were wrong. And now, as the che lifted his arm and brandished his ice cold steel, she was afraid. Afraid of the sword, afraid of the pain she heard in her kin brother. Afraid to die.

And the che's arm fell. Her eyes watered over and closed. Black.

Sound.

Impact.

Wind.

She opened her eyes. There had been no pain. She saw the che falling backwards, far far away from her. Falling to the ground inside the court chamber, visible through a hole. A large hole. From the outside looking in. Upside-down.

Arms around her. Strong ones, thick and coarse. Covered in hair. Her ears were buffeted with wind, and the world righted itself. The courtyard rushed up before her, free of the fighting that had been there before and filled this time with her kin sisters and the children rushing between fallen bodies, and her momentum braked sharply to the sound of more blustering. Gently, she was released from the grip onto her feet, alighting on the grass and crumpling to the ground in weakness. Above her, suspended in the air like a hummingbird, was Morihaus-Breath-of-Kyne. "Tis not thine lot to die this day, Paravant." He churned his wings and rose towards the sun. "I shalt see that victory comes swift. See to her wounds and prepare her for the celebration." Two nearby kothri elders scuttled to her side and held her exhausted limbs to inspect for damage. "There has been too much death for our cause today, I shalt end it before more befalls us." With a somersault, he rocketed back towards the hole he had made in the side of the court chambers and was enveloped again by Sancre Tor.

Perrif drew breath and exhaled. Then, her fingers became numb. Like spider webs, darkness crept from the corners of her vision. As it engulfed her sight, she heard panicked barks from her caretakers. "Paravant? Paravant!"

 _Please, I need my rest._


End file.
